A Midnight Embrace
by scarlettbees
Summary: Awakened on their wedding night, Darcy and Elizabeth share intimate feelings, and not merely in words. Explicit.
1. Chapter 1

**This is just an exercise in sexy, sensual writing, where I typically have a lot of difficulty. Feel free to leave suggestions on where this could lead, other bedroom moments, etc...but don't expect any S &M. **

A Midnight Embrace

Elizabeth awoke after only having been asleep a couple of hours to soft kisses on her shoulder and neck. She felt Darcy's large hand stroking the curve of her side to her hip before deftly moving to brush against her belly.

"Mmm, William…" she whispered.

She felt his teeth slightly nip at her shoulder, which made her turn toward her husband, whose mouth consumed hers before her eyes could fully open. He buried his hands in her hair, his breathing ragged against her lips, and communicated to her with no degree of uncertainty that he meant to have her again. Though exhausted, her skin felt on fire with the need for his touch; and she opened her legs to invite him to take his pleasure. Her heavy arms lifted to fully embrace him as his mouth traveled from one breast to another, kissing, licking and suckling her with ravenous hunger, his hands spreading over either side of her ribcage and kneading her skin as though determined to meld his body to hers. She clawed his back, and he murmured "yes" against her skin as he moved back up her body to reclaim her mouth. His hands squeezed her buttocks and pressed her against his erection, then he rolled them to their sides and lifted one of her legs over his hip, still fervidly tasting her flesh as she clung to his in a firm grasp. The lovers lost in one another were delirious with passion until Darcy's hand moved between her thighs and two of his fingers entered her most intimate region, at which point she took in a sharp breath—and not one of pleasure, but of pain.

"Forgive me, darling, forgive me…" he whispered unsteadily against her neck, instantly removing his fingers to instead bury them in her dampened hair. His other hand did the same as he settled her beneath him, planting soft, repentant kisses on every feature of her face.

Of course, she forgave him instantly, and cursed her newly deflowered body for its adamant refusal to accommodate his desire a second time. The consummation of their marriage had been like a sudden, violent wind having blown through one window and out another—exhilarating, but fleeting. Elizabeth knew her feelings for William were anything but transient; and more than anything, she wanted to show him the depths of her love, but did not yet know how. Much as she did not wish to admit it, she needed his help; but before she could say as much out loud, she both felt and heard his gentle words spoken softly, but closely into her ear.

"I dreamt of you."

"Just then?"

"Always…always." He paused to calm his breathing, pressing his warm cheek against hers. "Only this time, I reached for you in the dark, and…"

He wrapped his arms fully around her, prompting Elizabeth to do the same. "And what, sweetheart?" She whispered back.

"And here you are." He kissed her hair. "You are not a dream, are you?"

She laughed lightly. "I should hope not."

A deep sigh. "And you will not disappear?"

"I will not." She held him even tighter.

"Thank you."

The words were spoken with a tremendous depth of feeling; and it did not take Elizabeth long to realize he was not thanking her, but God.


	2. Chapter 2

"What are we to do?" Elizabeth asked her lover, who clearly needed her, but simply could not have her as he wished.

He shook with rumbling laughter; and she reveled in the feeling of his warm body blanketing hers.

"We sleep, my dear," he said in grudging surrender, and rolled from atop her. He covered them both and gathered her bare form in his arms, pressing her into him, nestling her face against his chest. Apparently this was not close enough; for he brought his leg up to wrap around hers as she folded her arm under his to grip his shoulder in an effort to draw even closer. Her lips moved over the hollow of his neck as he stroked her back. Minutes passed. Neither could sleep.

"This will not do," Elizabeth finally said, feeling his stubbornly hard member pressed against her thigh.

Mistaking her meaning, he began to disentangle himself. "Rest, my love. I shall go to my room."

"No!"

She instantly threw her own leg over his to stop his withdrawing from her, and, with an unyielding grasp, pulled him to her once again, which surprised him.

"But I thought—"

"I do not wish to sleep," she said emphatically. "I wish to…"

She went silent, as did he. In the faint glow of the firelight, she could not discern his countenance, but became aware of his thoughts when he slowly took her hand and placed it on his erection, which made her gasp involuntarily. Every reasonable thought demanded she remove her hand immediately; but the passion within her bid she examine further what was happening. He was large. The skin of his appendage was smooth but for the tuft of hair at the base, which she also explored, causing him to moan with heightening desire. His breathing gradually became uneven.

"Tell me what to do," she implored in a whisper.

He hesitated but a moment before placing his hand on hers, and steered it up and down the shaft.

"Does this…feel good?" She asked shyly over his harsh breaths.

Darcy answered by way of crushing his mouth against hers. Their tongues dipped and tasted one another as he moved his hips to the rhythm of her stroking. Soon, the steady movement became a rapid thrust, and their hands let go of his member to join together, fingers entwining, their pressed bodies now serving as friction for his furious desire, their arms and legs aiding to bind them like the marital band around her finger.

When at last his passion was satiated, Elizabeth had never felt more emotionally and physically drained. Her eyes were barely open as Darcy left the bed just long enough to sponge bathe her, bidding she remain still so he could tend to her soiled and spent body, which she was more than happy to allow. He quickly toweled her dry and covered her with the counterpane, asking if she were more comfortable. She murmured a "yes" before curling up against him once again, his gentle words of love faintly audible, but not quite decipherable, as she fell into a deep sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

"May I look at you?" Darcy asked late into their second night as man and wife. They had made love only minutes before, and between small naps had throughout the day only left the bed long enough to take meals together.

 _What a silly pair we are_ , thought Elizabeth at particular moments when one of them could scarcely perform a routine activity without touching or kissing the other, finally falling into bed after debating about…something. At the end of each argument, Elizabeth could not tell who had won, or what the dispute was about.

Now close to midnight, Elizabeth lounged comfortably under the covers with her husband's nudity brazenly exposed atop the counterpane.

"You _are_ looking at me, sir," she replied to his question, brushing a hand against the stubble on his cheek.

Starting at the shoulder, he began to slowly slip the cover down her body. At her stiffening, he paused.

"You need more time. I understand," he said, the disappointment in his voice poorly concealed.

"Why do you wish to look at me?" she asked shyly.

"Because you are so beautiful."

"Not merely tolerable?"

Darcy groaned, burying his face in a pillow, into which he muffled, "Shall I ever live down that awful remark?"

Elizabeth chuckled, kissing his head. "I pray your forgiveness. It is wrong of me to torment you so."

"I had so much on my mind that evening, I'd not even properly looked at you before uttering it, and no inclination to check my volume at the time."

"And when did you begin to look at me properly?"

"About twelve seconds later, when you brushed past me to speak to your friends. I could see the laughter in your eyes before I heard it aloud. It was then I regretted what I'd said."

"I'd never seen a man look so haughty as you," she said with a smile. "Ultimately, my response was so much harsher than the insult; for though you behaved towards me in every way a gentleman after that moment, my wounded pride forbade me from forgiving you." Her smile had faded, replaced with a pained expression. "I so readily believed every ill thing said about you."

"I hardly behaved as a gentleman when I proposed to you. In fact, I'd managed to validate every negative feeling you had in one explosive argument."

Elizabeth smiled again. "We were both quite passionate, were we not?"

He raised slightly and rested on one elbow. "Do you know I had rehearsed that proposal in my head for days? That I'd lain in bed night after torturous night, staring up at the ceiling, thinking of _the correct way_ to offer for you?"

"I then wonder why on Earth you would start off with, "In vain I have struggled—"

"Because I had! Lord help me, Elizabeth, but, fool that I was, I'd thought complete honesty was essential." With a roll of his eyes, he said, "I thought it was so important to have you understand the enormity of what I was doing. It had never occurred to me, not even for a moment, that I might offend you – not when, in my eyes, I was offering you not only every part of myself, but also the World. Naturally, I thought you'd react as any other woman I'd ever known." He stroked her cheek gently. "But you are like no other woman, and I did not know you. Not essentially."

"Nor did I you," she replied. "Not until your letter." She drew closer to him. "For all I knew, I was forgotten after that."

"Which was certainly my intention," Darcy replied. "A futile endeavor, indeed. One of many when it came to you."

"You were not bitter?"

"At first, of course, but soon after…when I was forced to close the book on you entirely with the delivering of that letter…" He shook his head as though to drive out the memory. "I'd not wish on my worst enemy how I felt that day…or the months following."

"How did you feel?"

"To start, I wanted to murder Fitzwilliam."

"You did not!"

"I was not of perfectly sound mind, my dear – not in those subsequent moments. Bloody Richard could have had you for the asking—"

"That is not true!"

"Far before myself, at least. I hated him for that. Then, for the next two months, I hated myself, and behaved thusly."

"What did you do in all that time?"

"Things I wish I had not, and should rather not talk about, as I fear you'll think less of me. Let us just say in that time I returned to my senses."

"If it should pain you, of course we shan't talk of it. However, I am intrigued by unrequited love. Does the feeling differ in a man than a woman?"

"I can only give you the man's perspective."

"Go on."

Rolling on his back, he breathed a heavy sigh. For many moments, he stared up at the canopy of their bed.

"To man's great misfortune," he said, "a love deeply felt cannot be conquered like foreign territory, nor can it be shed like the skin of a serpent, much as we should wish it. Rather, it is a persistent ache and a substantial burden carried for what feels like an eternity, especially if untended and left to fester like a gangrenous wound. The heart is angry, cries out for its intended and, if left unsatisfied, acts out in desperation."

Elizabeth decided after that to ask no more questions. Guilt over what she'd put him through penetrated her heart; and however he manifested this "desperation" was, quite frankly, none of her concern. In an impulsive move, she flung aside her covering and climbed atop him, fully exposing herself to his evident surprise and arousal. She straddled him as he reached up to cup her breasts in both hands.

"You said you wished to look, sir," she teased before emitting a moan of pleasure in response to his gentle massage. "You said nothing of touching."

"You are more than welcome to touch back," he replied, moving his hands up to her neck before sliding them sensuously down her body to rest at her waist.

At first she was hesitant as he remained still in anticipation. She began at his torso, tracing her fingers up his ribcage, utterly captivated by his masculinity. She toyed with the hair on his chest, and consciously decided to close her eyes and relish in the feel of him beneath her. She bent down and placed small kisses where her fingers had touched, and smiled upon hearing his deep exhale. Raising herself back up, she continued to explore, and felt his hands move up her own body once again until they were content to simply sketch the features of her face. She allowed his thumb to gradually slide inside her mouth, and kept her eyes closed as she sucked tenderly. His thumb was soon replaced by his mouth as he brought himself upright to kiss her thoroughly. They savored one another. Their tongues danced and caressed. Her legs locked around his waist; and she felt the pressure of his erection begging to enter her. Lifting herself slightly, she took him in her hand, and upon guiding him into her felt the most wondrous sensation she'd ever experience, unlike anything before. It was sharp and intense – and magnificent! She gasped, alarming him.

"Darling, are you hurt?"

She barely heard him over her loud cry. "No! It is just so…different." Her breath quickened. "Oh, dear Lord…"

He dared to press deeper, which brought another shock of intense pleasure. Why was it so different? Was it because she was astride him instead of beneath? Had a mere change in position heighted her experience so immensely? As they moved rhythmically together, Elizabeth opened her eyes to see the concentrated passion in his own. She then realized the possibilities for the enormous amounts of enjoyment to be had in the marriage bed…or anywhere else they wished! And as they harmoniously came together, she decided that next time, and henceforward, creativity would be sure to play an essential role in their lovemaking.


	4. Chapter 4

"What a beautiful moon," said Elizabeth drowsily to her husband on their third night of marriage. The two of them were nestled together in an armchair, covered with a large blanket, looking out into the clear night sky where the moonlight shone through the French window. It was only the second instance the curtains were undrawn for any length of time in the seventy-plus hours they'd shared the room thus far, the first being the morning before when Elizabeth awakened to find William standing at that same window, wearing naught but a robe. Through the thin breach, he was peeking down at the minimal amount of activity taking place at so early an hour.

"Shall we go for a walk, this morning, dearest?" She had asked sleepily.

He stared a bit longer out the window before turning his gaze to her, and answered by way of fully closing the curtains and rejoining her in bed. The idea of a walk was soon forgotten.

In response to her praise of the moon, Darcy quoted absently, _"_ _The day, water, sun, moon, night – I do not have to purchase these things with money."_

"Nor love," she whispered against his cheek before kissing him.

He studied her small fingers in his large hand a few moments before asking, "And when did you begin to love me?"

"Ah," she said with a smile, "I see it is my turn now, is it?"

"'Tis only fair, is it not?"

"Very well," she replied. "Your portrait."

"My portrait?"

She nodded. "I should like to say my love for you began after the reading of your letter, but I cannot; for though it had opened my eyes, my heart remained stubbornly sealed – that is, until I arrived at Pemberley."

"Where upon your obstinate heart opened ever so slightly to timorously whisper, _perhaps that Darcy fellow is not so bad, after all_."

"Don't be cheeky!" Elizabeth shoved him playfully. "Else I shall not continue!"

Darcy grabbed her hands. "Forgive the interruption, my dear," he said after kissing the tips of her fingers. "Pray, continue."

"Throughout the tour," Elizabeth resumed, "Mrs. Reynolds incessantly sang your praises. 'Just like his father,' she said. 'The best landlord, the best master…'"

"She is due for a raise in salary, I believe," again interrupted Darcy, which made Elizabeth laugh heartily.

"She then led us through that wing of the home which hung your family portraits. I saw yours. And suddenly, I just…I knew you. I understood your reserve, your solitude, your melancholy, and overwhelmingly I wished – not to laugh at you as before – but to make you laugh, to have you know contentment, and forever dispel what ails you. And I longed to…oh, this is turning embarrassing."

"Oh, you cannot possibly stop now," replied Darcy, entwining their fingers.

She breathed a sigh. "I longed so much to begin anew, to have you forget every awful thing I said to you that day in Hunsford, and every argument before then…"

"But I enjoyed those arguments," he said earnestly. "More than anything in the world."

"I saw little joy in your eyes when we danced at Netherfield, Mr. Darcy," she replied with a raised eyebrow.

"Right you are, my dear," Darcy admitted. "What I felt when we danced, however no less exhilarating, I could scarcely call joy."

"What would you call it?"

"Apprehension. Vexation. And incorrigible passion, even in knowing…"

Darcy shook his head in disgust, which puzzled her.

"Knowing what?" She asked.

"That Wickham, through his usual lies, had gotten to you, as well. The thought of you caring for him was quite maddening, but in my stubbornness—"

"In _our_ stubbornness," she corrected just before pressing her lips against his. A few kisses later, she added, "And I, too, in our dance felt things…not dissimilar."

He tightened his grip on her hands. "Shall you ever admit you were as attracted to me as I was to you?"

She shifted her body to straddle him, allowing the blanket to slide down as to expose her breasts. His eyes drifted from hers to admire the exhibition.

"Thereby admitting that I – a simple, country maiden – harbored less than virtuous thoughts before marriage? I think not, sir. By mandate of our mores, Mr. Darcy, you shall receive no satisfaction."

Darcy leaned in and placed his mouth on her nipple, sucking tenderly. She betrayed her own satisfaction as he gave ample attention to one breast, then another. Her hands released from his to bury into his hair.

"I suppose I must rely as much now as I did then on my imagination, Mrs. Darcy," he said thickly. Gripping her rump, he rose from the chair in one swift motion. Her legs intuitively locked around his waist as the blanket fell to the floor.

"Show me what you'd imagined," she whispered against his lips. "Teach me to respond thusly."

Exchanging heavy breaths, their mouths then fused together violently. His nude form backed hers against the wall, and a pleasurable, piercing sensation alerted her body that they had joined yet again. The tingles began between her thighs and jolted upwards, causing her to jerk with every thrust.

"Talk to me, Lizzy," he whispered raggedly, never breaking his stride. She opened her eyes to meet his ever penetrating stare.

"My darling, William," she answered sincerely, arms tightening around his neck. Tears pooled her eyes as the pleasure intensified. Lips finding his ear, she quoted breathily, " _I do love nothing in the world so well as you._ "

Gradually, he moved her to the bed, and slowed his rhythm as she continued to murmur into his ear quotes from every love poem that had ever touched her, his labored breaths in response a reward in and of itself. Finally, he came hard inside of her, and found the greatest compliment in her own cry of completion. Their depleted bodies remained united even after their breathing returned to normal.

"Well, Mr. Darcy," said Elizabeth, stroking his dampened curls resting upon her breast. "Have I managed to surpass what you'd imagined?"

"Beyond that, my love," he replied drowsily. "You have surpassed my dreams."


	5. Chapter 5

"What do you think of this poet?" asked Elizabeth as she took the book from the shelf whilst Darcy lounged in an armchair, the candle in her hand casting a ghostly light around her in the midnight darkness of the room. She approached him and showed him the book.

"Blake is a bit radical for my tastes," answered Darcy, "though I am fond of his artwork."

On their fourth night of marriage, Elizabeth found herself in the library after slipping from her sleeping husband's arms to take a stroll about the townhouse. Donned in her shift and dressing gown, she decided to explore further not only the many different rooms of the opulent home, but Darcy's taste in literature, as well. As she shined her candle on one work after another, her love entered the room, his robe loosely tied and hair handsomely unkempt. Though she smiled at him, he said not a word as he crossed the room and poured himself a glass of wine from the side table. For many silent minutes, she continued perusing the vast collection, all the while feeling his eyes on her as she had so many times at both Netherfield and Rosings Park. After finally making her choice, she approached and casually slid into Darcy's most comfortable (and welcoming) lap.

"Shall I read to you from Hertfordshire's own William Cowper, Mr. Darcy?"

"By all means, Mrs. Darcy."

"What is that smirk, sir?" she asked, placing the book on her own lap.

Assuming an offended mien, Darcy set down his empty glass. "What do you mean?"

"That was a decidedly naughty smile just now, and I must insist on knowing the reason behind it."

She tickled his neck, and he caught her fingers to kiss them. "I was just thinking of the time you came to Netherfield when your sister was ill."

"Ah, yes – back when you hated me," she quipped.

"Indeed, I hated you so much that I reveled in aching silence every moment I was obliged to endure your abominable company."

"Aching?"

"Sometimes. Certainly in that particular instance."

She toyed seductively with the chest hair creeping from the open collar of his nightshirt. "And what instance would that be, sir?"

"Of course," he said with a heavy sigh, "I should not expect _you_ to remember."

"Remember what?"

"Saturday. The day before you left."

"When you spoke naught to me through the whole of that day?"

"I said 'good morning' to you at breakfast."

"And I imagined you thought yourself quite generous in offering that much."

"Once again misreading my regard."

"Then that afternoon, when we were alone together…"

"Then you do remember."

Her brow furrowed. "Is that the instance you're referring to?"

"Never mind. Please read, madam."

"Good Lord! You're sulking!"

"Well, it hardly matters, does it? It would seem – contrary to myself – that those three days meant very little to you."

"Oh! Must we argue again?"

She could not gauge his shadowed expression as he began toying with the curls spilling over her shoulder into the plunging neckline of her dressing gown. "I've no wish to quarrel," he said.

"You think I've forgotten that we were alone together, Mr. Darcy, for what must have been….what, an hour at least?"

"Half an hour – though, to you, I imagine it felt twice as long."

"Twice as long and the chill in that room twice as cold, I daresay." She stood from his lap and went back to the shelves. "What book had you so utterly enthralled, anyway? Perhaps it is _that_ book I should be reading, rather—"

"I've no idea the name of the book."

She turned to face him. "No idea?"

An interminable silence passed between them as she gazed at his still silhouette, which finally uttered, "You were wearing a cotton dress of a very pale yellow – with a floral embroidery of a darker yellow at the bottom edges of your skirt. You wore no jewelry but for a garnet cross around your neck – and though your hair was upswept as usual, a short, stray curl had escaped to linger just over your right ear. A few times that day, I'd watched you tuck that curl behind your ear, and I remember feeling this very strange urge to reach out and do the same."

Said she sincerely, "I am both moved and flattered by your vivid recollection, although compelled to remind you, sir, that – for the whole of our _visit_ – your eyes never left your book. You never looked at me once."

"Because I wanted nothing more than to be rid of you."

Elizabeth set her candle on the mantelpiece. "It sounds to me like you wanted quite the opposite, sir."

Her statement was returned with silence as she slowly approached him once again. "Did you truly want me gone? Or did you, in fact, want me near you?"

She stood over him, waiting patiently for his answer.

"Both," he roughly replied.

"An unfortunate inner conflict, indeed," she said, returning to the mantel. Setting her book on the floor, she kneeled at the hearth and began stoking the fire. "I cannot help but now wonder what you were thinking throughout that torturous half hour. You don't recall the book you were pretending to read, but might you recall that much? Were you inwardly begging that I should leave the room?"

"At first," he said. "Then as usual you defied me by curling your impertinent self up in a chair with your own book. After that, I challenged myself and resolved to conquer every forbidden feeling…"

"Forbidden?"

"As I saw it."

"Were these feelings passionate?"

"You know they were."

"Did you wish to kiss me?"

When he did not answer, Elizabeth turned from the fire to look at him. "There's that smirk again!" she exclaimed.

"To answer your question, my dear – yes, I wished very much to kiss you."

His intense gaze piqued her curiosity. "Was that all?"

"No. But I'll say no more than that."

With rising frustration, Elizabeth picked the book up from the floor and sat in a chair close to the hearth. "Well, sir," she huffed, "I too will say no more, but sit here with my book, re-encapsulating that _memorable_ day by sharing the next half hour with you in awkward silence."

She then opened the book and began staring at a random page in the manner she remembered him to have done that afternoon, hoping she was successful in making her point. It did not take long before she heard him rise from his chair and approach her, gently taking the book from her hands. Setting it aside, he knelt down in front of her, and she looked into his eyes shining with that now familiar look of abject desire. He drew closer to her and, grasping both arms of her chair, began kissing her jaw and down her neck. Sighing with pleasure, she closed her eyes as he untied her dressing gown and slipped it off her shoulders. His burning kisses continued across her collarbone, and she felt his tongue dip into the hollow of her neck. Raising his hands to rest on either side of her face, Darcy then crushed his mouth to hers. She opened her mouth to allow his tongue to explore thoroughly, and delighted in the helpless moan that escaped him when she returned the kiss with equal ardor.

She smiled when they finally broke apart to allow themselves air. "So _that_ is how you wished to kiss me, is it?" she whispered breathily. "You wicked…" She nipped at his bottom lip. "…wicked man."

He shook his head fervently. "No," he rasped, running his hands down her spine to firmly squeeze her buttocks. With one hard tug, he then brought her toward him to the edge of the chair.

His breath was ragged against her lips. "Lie back," he said as he disrobed.

Elizabeth obeyed, allowing – in truth, _begging_ – her husband to indulge in whatever fantasy he had contrived in that oh-so-gentlemanly head of his that afternoon at Netherfield. How sorely she had misunderstood him as she recalled that long, dull and damp Saturday. The incessant rain from the day before had kept her from taking a long walk as a respite from her haughtier housemates, and she wished not to disturb Jane and Mr. Bingley's conversation as she'd sensed a growing affection between them. For much of that morning, Elizabeth had been made to endure more backhanded remarks from the Bingley sisters, especially Caroline, before deciding she could take no more of their company. Politely excusing herself, Elizabeth resolved to spend the rest of that afternoon with a good book. She'd given almost no thought to the fact that Mr. Darcy's presence that day had been scarce before walking into the library and finding him sitting alone, his face hidden behind whatever work was holding his rapt attention.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Darcy," she had offered more out of courtesy than sincerity.

"Miss Bennet," he had curtly replied as he turned the page without so much as a glance in her direction.

 _Scornful, hateful man,_ she remembered thinking at the time. Yet despite all discomfiture, she would not stoop to his level and be so rude as to exit the room immediately after making a selection. Upon finding something to her liking, she sat down to decide if the book would be worth devoting the next several hours to, and imagined Mr. Darcy as a statue merely taking up space in the room. His face and air were like stone, after all – why not the rest of him?

"Yes," she whispered as she felt Darcy's hands sensuously moving up her legs and her gown being pushed up to her thighs. Any moment now, Elizabeth thought with a smile, she would be feeling the sensation of his fingers slipping inside of her. Oh, how she so enjoyed his tender ministrations before taking her, and she bit her lip in excited anticipation. But her eyes suddenly opened when the sensation she felt was decidedly different than anything she'd thus far experienced, and she looked down to discover she was not being massaged by his highly skillful fingers but bathed by the velvet warmth of his tongue. It somehow felt wrong, but the pleasure could not be denied. Her eyes rolled back in her head. "Oh, God, William…"

His mouth remained glued to her as he reached out to entwine her hand in his. Her flesh tingled as her most sensitive core was continuously tantalized and tickled. His tongue plunged, flicked and darted, and he moaned his satisfaction with her every gasp of wonder and supreme gratification. A finger soon accompanied his lips and ever probing tongue, then bringing her to the very edge of release. With one last kiss to her pearl, she arched upward and cried out, squeezing his hand so hard it was painful.

When it was over, she was entirely breathless as her limp body fell forward out of the chair to be caught in his arms. He gently lowered her down and lay her on her back in front of the fire.

"Shhhh," he whispered, stroking her hair. "Breathe, darling."

Their eyes locked, and she'd scarcely caught her breath when he then kissed her passionately, and Elizabeth was further shocked and thrilled to taste herself on his lips. She felt she would die from loving him as they continued to gaze at one another, tears pooling her eyes. His perfectly composed manner astonished her. How could he be so calm whilst her mind was reeling over the intimacy of what had just transpired? Slipping his hand under her shift, he massaged her breast and placed gentle kisses all over her face. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she smiled in utter contentment.

"You have quite the imagination, Mr. Darcy," she said over his endless kisses.


	6. Chapter 6

**June, 1812**

 **Vienna, Austria**

"Welcome, sir," greeted Fraulein Unger with a deep and reverent curtsey upon Darcy's entrance; for men of his class and fortune were easily recognized and treated as kings in such establishments.

After three days in Paris had failed to lift his spirits in the slightest, Darcy began traveling to Austria under the futile notion that distance would mend his heart after so humiliating a rejection. A sennight later, he found himself wandering the streets of Vienna in solitude and self-loathing, sleeping little, drinking brandy into the evening and often forgetting to take meals. He could not forgive himself, and – despite full acknowledgment of where he'd erred so grievously – could not forgive _her_.

God damn it, but he still loved the woman. Passionately. More than ever, he feared.

He hated that he still loved her, hated himself for loving her – needing her. In spite of who he was and everything he'd been willing to renounce for her hand, this low-bred hoyden had managed to bring him – _him!_ – to his knees. He was weak – so bloody weak. No good to anyone, least of all to Georgiana, who'd grown as miserable as himself in the weeks following his return from Kent; for he had become a man to avoid and intolerable to live with. Such was the result of coming to the unbearable conclusion that he – Fitzwilliam Darcy – no longer knew himself.

Confessing his love for Miss Bennet to Georgiana had somewhat eased his burden, but the fact remained that the woman he admired and respected more than anyone viewed him as unrespectable, contemptible, selfish, arrogant, conceited…

After another glass was shattered upon being hurled into the fireplace, Darcy decided to take a long walk, view the sites of a city rich with culture and – just as he had in Paris – almost unconsciously veering towards its seedier districts. In spirit, she was with him always and wherever he went, teasing and tormenting him, and he often imagined what he might say to her if she were to suddenly be standing before him.

"Prepare the best room you have available, please," he said to the bejeweled and heavily powdered Fraulein Unger.

Her accent was thick, but understandable. "Of course, sir," she replied, "and what else would you like?"

The question was asked with clear insinuation and as a signal to Darcy that a business transaction of a decidedly amoral nature was about to begin. Since becoming a man, he'd only on rare occasions condescended to call on a house of ill-repute and had never left one without feeling a strong measure of shame and self-disgust. His raising had taught him better, after all. 'Twas his own fault, his father would have admonished, that a failure to have found an acceptable bride coupled with a stubborn reluctance to settle complicated the innate need for physical release.

 _A true gentleman is meant to suffer the ache of repression over the degradation of taking a mistress in the interim…or a whore for an evening._

But he was no true gentleman, was he? Elizabeth said so, and with such vehemence, such hatred…

 _Damn her!_ He was being eaten alive, and Darcy wondered if this might be the only way to finally cleanse himself of her. Or perhaps it would only make things worse. In any case, he had to try something – _anything_ – to bring him out of the sheer hell that was his current state of mind.

"A bottle of Madeira," he answered the madam brusquely, avoiding eye contact with her as well as every patron who'd passed by with his own bird on his arm. "Your finest."

"Right away. And what else, sir?"

Darcy had caught sight of a pretty young woman who only faintly resembled Elizabeth for her dark curls and fair complexion. Even her eyes were similar in color, though they were _not_ Elizabeth's. No woman had _her_ eyes. Whether they were laughing, teasing or angry, he could never refrain from staring into them, igniting his passions as he would drink in the sight of her from across the room. They magnetized him, drove him mad at times, and to find their equal he knew would be a futile endeavor.

Nevertheless, the girl batted her inferior eyes in his direction, posed in a manner as to please him, costumed and made up to be as alluring as possible. He was barely attracted and hardly impressed.

"That one," he said, nodding in that harlot's direction. "Have her bathed and washed of all cosmetic, her toilette but a splash of lavender water. I want her dressed simply, modestly – like she were taking an afternoon walk. No jewelry. No corset."

"As you wish, sir," said the madam before relaying his orders to the girl in her native tongue.

"She knows no English?" inquired Darcy.

"No, sir," Fraulein Unger confirmed. "But we do have—"

"I am satisfied," he said before taking the bottle and glass offered to him on a silver tray.

A half hour and a half bottle of wine later, Darcy was escorted to the room where his selection was sitting on the bed, cleansed of powder and rouge as requested but still wearing an insufferably coquettish look on her face. He did not blame the girl, of course, and quickly ceded that a great many of their patrons must prefer these affectations he himself found most unappealing.

Her dress was perfect with the exception of the accessories that accompanied it, namely a large bonnet, white gloves and a bloody parasol. Fraulein Unger had evidently taken his "afternoon walk" scenario to the extreme.

 _Elizabeth never carried a parasol,_ thought Darcy through his tap-hackled haze as he motioned for her to stand. She did so obediently and in no way appearing frightened or nervous as he'd found in the eyes of some unfortunate women. In fact, she seemed most eager to please him after having looked him over favorably several times already. Though he had enviously witnessed Elizabeth's teasing manner towards others (especially his blasted cousin), she had certainly never cast _him_ so playful a glance, and – from this inferior model – he found that it did not agree with him. Though not well-versed in the language, he knew just enough to communicate precisely what he wanted from her.

"Dreh dich um," he said to the girl. "Spricht nicht."

As ordered, she turned her back to him. His breath caught as he finally saw Elizabeth's likeness, from her hair to what must be a trim waist and supple bottom beneath that billowing skirt. In a few slow, stumbling strides, he was behind her, taking the parasol from her hands and tossing it to the floor. He took the liberty of removing her bonnet and gloves, also tossing them aside. She began to turn and face him once again.

"No," he said to her, gripping her shoulders to keep her still and repeating the request that she say nothing. With the accessories discarded, she now truly resembled his darling Elizabeth. He closed his eyes and inhaled the intensely pleasurable lavender scent. He could feel his inhibitions crumbling, his passions rising, and he was becoming most assuredly aroused. But that was the point, was it not?

"Be gone from me," he whispered hoarsely with a gentle squeeze to her shoulders. He gripped a bit harder and shook her slightly. "Be gone from me!"

Keeping his eyes shut, he could hear the steady rise and fall of her breath. From this point on, imagining her as _his_ Elizabeth was easy. He began pulling pins from her hair until he felt it spilling into his hands. He brushed his thumbs over her perfect neck.

She whimpered. With arousal or distress, he could not tell. Suddenly the humiliating memory of Elizabeth's refusal crept into his otherwise stimulating reverie.

"I hope you regret it," he said as he buried his hands into the mass of curls, "whenever – _if_ ever you think of me. I pray you share my misery; for you deserve it equally."

He opened his eyes and found that he could preserve the fantasy as he brushed her hair aside and began slowly unbuttoning her dress, the submissive surrogate remaining perfectly still. "Do you think of me even half as much? Do you think of me at all?"

He loosened one button after another to reveal bare skin, his clouded mind conjuring the letter he'd spent an entire night composing to her. "Do you believe that I was truthful, or that I am a liar? Do you still think me wicked, and he a victim? Is he still so amiable to you? Did you fall in love with him?"

His patience and temper faltering, Darcy suddenly ripped the dress free of its buttons with both hands, exposing her bare back to him. His "Elizabeth" gasped, gripping the bedpost.

"I'd have given you anything – _everything_ ," he continued as though in a trance, tracing his fingers down her spine. "Hateful, obstinate woman."

She shivered. He winced. Once he saw goosebumps appear on her creamy white skin, he became a man possessed.

Darcy quickly shook off his tailcoat, his waist coat soon following. He bent her over the bed and began lifting her skirt to reveal even more flesh. "God, I loved you," he rasped upon exposing her backside, and in imagining it as Elizabeth's could do nothing to contain his ardor.

"My Lizzy," he breathed, slipping a finger inside her slit.

It was warm and wet. She moaned.

"You will come for me," he whispered, pressing his hardness against her.

* * *

"What is the matter, dearest?" asked Elizabeth breathlessly as she continued to straddle him.

Darcy, too, was panting wildly after yet another arduous round of intense lovemaking. They shared perspiration as they clung to one another. As she brushed damp tendrils of hair from his forehead, he brought a hand to rest on her cheek.

"Forgive me," he said thickly.

She looked at him oddly. "Forgive you? For what, darling?"

A knock at the chamber door interrupted them. Darcy took a few moments to collect himself before answering. "Is that you, Fleming?"

"Yes, sir," replied his valet through the door. "Your bath is ready, sir."

"Thank you," said Darcy, "that will be all."

Without a word, he gathered his confounded bride in his arms and carried her across the room and through the archway leading to the bathing area. "Forgive me," he repeated more casually, "if I alarmed you, my darling. Much as I desire you, I must confess to you that my thoughts wandered elsewhere. Only for a moment. I think it was the wine."

Darcy gently lowered and submerged his wife into the tub full of warm water. "Perhaps it is best I not imbibe before we make love," he said.

Looking at him curiously, she leaned back against one side of the tub as he kneeled down, taking a bar of soap. She grasped his arm before he was to commence the immensely gratifying task of bathing her.

"I wish for you to join me, sir," she said, bringing a smile to his face.

"With pleasure," he said before stepping into the tub and settling himself between her legs. She took the soap from his hand and began to lather his skin, massaging his shoulders and chest as he relaxed contentedly against her breast.

His peace was to be soon interrupted.

"I think you are acquainted enough with my character," she said softly in his ear, "to know that I could never accept that answer. For what do you require forgiveness, sir?"

"The past," he murmured.

She nibbled on his earlobe. "You know I've forgiven you that already. As you have forgiven me."

"I know."

"Though I must admit that I too think of the unpleasant past on occasion. Despite my philosophy."

"It cannot be helped, I fear."

"Does this help?"

She kissed along his neck and shoulder, and he sighed deeply. "I do not deserve you."

"Of course you do. We deserve each other, Mr. Darcy; for who else on Earth could endure our nonsense?"

He laughed with her. Their fingers entwined under the water.

"We are incorrigible," she continued, "deeply flawed, prideful, obstinate creatures. To subject ourselves to any other would be cruel indeed, don't you think?"

"It would be any man's good fortune to have you for his own," he said seriously. "Fitzwilliam, for example…"

"So help me, William, if you start that again…"

"I only mean to point out that a woman like you could have found a match among scores of eligible, viable prospects."

"Like Mr. Collins?"

He groaned, inducing her to laugh again. Forcing the unwelcome image of Collins from his mind, he continued. "Whereas _I_ , on the other hand…"

"Are the most wonderful man in the world. The kindest, dearest, most handsome…"

"I assure you, my dear, that I am _not_ an easy man to love. You will learn that soon enough."

"As you will learn likewise, sir. Shall we wager on who is ultimately determined more difficult to adore?"

"I am not a gambling man."

Thoroughly cleansed by his beloved, Darcy turned and slid to the other side of the tub, bringing her with him. He trapped her in his embrace, to which she most willingly surrendered, wrapping her strong legs around his waist, her arms around his neck.

"What would you give to have me here and now, Mr. Darcy?" she asked playfully, rubbing her nose against his.

"Anything," he whispered, kissing her softly. "Everything."


End file.
